


Noir: The Black and White Life of C.C. Tinsley

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940's, Angst, Film Noir, M/M, Murder Mystery, The Mafia/Mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "The thing that caught me off about him, however, were his eyes. They were large and beady and ever so black. I might as well have been drowning in a vat of tar the way he was looking at me with those eyes. There’s a story that I look for in people’s eyes, but whoever this man was…he wasn’t giving me a library card."~C.C. Tinsley
Relationships: Ricky Goldsworth & C.C. Tinsley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Noir: The Black and White Life of C.C. Tinsley

It was days like these that made me wonder why I became a detective in the first place. No one had yet walked through my door, the very door that was the bane my existence. Private detective it said, the private part was sure enough. Very rarely would I ever have someone walk into my office, very rarely would I ever have someone sit in front of me. I’d get the occasional dame, the type of woman to sit back and smoke a cigarette while her husband was bleeding on the carpet at home. Granted, I was the one who gave them the cigarette in the first place.   
I looked at the clock. Ten-fifty. I rarely ever close at night, that’s when all the exciting stuff happens after all. And something exciting did happen that night. My door roared out a whiney creek as it revealed a man. Now that…that was unusual. This wasn’t the usual broad with high heels so sharp that they could stab a man, no…not at all. This man was short, but his posture made him look taller than he was. He was wearing a dark suit that seemed absent of any sort of wrinkle or stain. The thing that caught me off about him, however, were his eyes. They were large and beady and ever so black. I might as well have been drowning in a vat of tar the way he was looking at me with those eyes. There’s a story that I look for in people’s eyes, but whoever this man was…he wasn’t giving me a library card.   
“Tinsely,” the man greeted. His voice flowed as easily as butter as toast.  
“That’s what it says on the door,” I shot back. The man then flashed me a smile, a smile that I was all too familiar with. It was the type of smile that meant nothing…nothing at all.   
“It also says you’re a detective, good for me that I came by then,” the dark-eyed man said. He slowly closed the door before striding over to the front desk,” I have a case for you, Detective, a good one.”  
He was confident, but then again, he seemed like a man who did a good job at hiding his fear. I decided to humor him.   
“Well, that’s for me to decide and for you to tell,” I retorted, leaning back in my chair. I don’t get interested until there’s something to be interested about.  
“How much do you know about the mobsters Night Night Bergara and Legs Madej?” the man smirked, placing his hands on my desk. It was cluttered desk. There were cigarette butts, torn notebook papers, empty cups of coffee, and a hat covering the top. Many people would call my desk a mess, I being one of them.   
“I don’t deal with the mob,” I retorted truthfully. Somethings just don’t deserve to be played with, the mob was one of those things. It’s not like I’m scared, I’m just smart.   
“I admire that, Detective, don’t want that blood on your hands,” the man chuckled. I gave him a hard stare.  
“What about your hands? How much blood has been spilled on them?” I pressed, crossing my arms instinctively. The man’s cocky demeanor had been wiped clean at that.   
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Tinsely. Night Night and Legs have been killed—murdered is the better word,” I quirked my eyebrow,” Don’t give me that look, it wasn’t me.”  
I continued to give him the look,” And why do you find yourself caring? Are you part of the mob?”  
“I’m not part of anything, Detective, I’m my own person. Night Night and Legs were just my friends.”  
“Mobsters having friends is a concept I’m not all too familiar with.”  
“It’s not all just hit-and-run’s and cigar smoking, ya know, mobsters get lonely too, Tinsley.”  
“I apologize, I wasn’t aware that you were the type of person that a mobster would want to get a beer with.”  
“Connections are good to have, not all of us want to sit in a dark office all day with only the floorboards as company,” the man explained, knocking on the wood of my desk for added effect.   
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I quipped, pulling two cigarettes out of my desk drawer. I didn’t particularly like smoking, I just liked the idea of each one slowly killing me. I was addicted—not to smoking, but to sadness. I had yet to figure out which one was more dangerous.   
“Solve my case, Detective, help me figure out who killed the two most ruthless mobsters of this Los Angeles side and I swear…you’ll never hear from me or anyone from the mob ever again,” the man replied. I could tell he was getting impatient. I could feel some of his tension rise through. I handed him a cigarette to calm the nerves, and he took it like they all do. If being a detective as taught me anything it’s that no one will ever say no to a cigarette. He lit it quickly before tossing me his lighter. It was a shiny, little thing, he obviously took good care of it. The initials R and G had been embroidered onto it in swirly letters that would hurt your eyes of you looked at it for too long. I lit my cigarette hastily, letting the smoke shove itself down my throat. I tossed the lighter back to the man who seemed to have caught it without even looking.  
“You’re not as elusive as you think, if I take this case then I want you to know that you’re gonna be my number one suspect,” I responded, emitting a cloud of smoke. The man’s face was disappearing behind the fog, his eyes were the only thing I could focus my attention on.  
“I’m prepared to make that sacrifice, Detective.”  
“Aren’t you all that scared?”  
“Of what, being in handcuffs? No, not really. You see, I can pick a lock.”  
“And I can find people who go missing.”  
“Well, isn’t this just a show and tell of talents,” the man mused. He was a smug bastard, and maybe that’s what compelled me to take the case. I wanted to know more about this man, the one who supposedly hung out with the mob and who was trying so hard to hide a part of himself.   
“I’ll take your case,” I said simply. Through the smoke I swear I could see those pitch-black pools sparkle.   
“You’re a better man than most, Detective,” and I think that was the most genuine thing he had said to me thus far,” When can we meet again? Where can I find you?”  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, I’ll be right here.”  
“And if you’re not?”  
“Then I’ll be at 24-hour diner on Barrymore Street.”  
“It’s a sad, sad life you live there, Detective,” the man commented. He got up and walked to the door, the very door that was the bane of my existence.   
“I know, I think I’m addicted to it,” I countered. I dropped my cigarette into one of the empty coffee cups on my desk. I watched the smoke dance and dance until it was just pathetic little wisps trying to stay alive. The man gave a final smile before turning the doorknob.  
“My name’s Ricky, by the way. Ricky Goldsworth,” Ricky said before stepping out of the door. 


End file.
